


"is that my jumper?"

by elainebarrish



Category: Scott & Bailey
Genre: F/F, HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATIE KATE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elainebarrish/pseuds/elainebarrish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're not thinking when you show up at her's, you're just aware that you don't want to go home, where it'll be just you and nothing in the fridge, and you'll have a glass of wine for dinner and then collapse into bed, fully dressed probably, too tired and too stressed to do anything else. At least at Gill's she'll have food in the fridge and you might be able to convince her to make you something, if you look pathetic enough."</p>
            </blockquote>





	"is that my jumper?"

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATIE I'M ONLY AN HOUR LATE POSTING THIS XOXO

You're not thinking when you show up at her's, you're just aware that you don't want to go home, where it'll be just you and nothing in the fridge, and you'll have a glass of wine for dinner and then collapse into bed, fully dressed probably, too tired and too stressed to do anything else. At least at Gill's she'll have food in the fridge and you might be able to convince her to make you something, if you look pathetic enough, and it doesn't even matter that you don't have anything with you because you keep spare clothes and a spare toothbrush at hers, you have done for years, since you used to help with Sammy during and after the divorce. The spare room that was basically your room, your clothes the only thing in it's wardrobe, the bed unmade from the last time you stayed over. Gill was probably curled up on the sofa watching something mindless that she wasn't really watching, wearing one of your old, faded band shirts from back when you were young and thought music was going to change the world or something. She looks better in them than you ever did.

You don't even think as you use your key to open the door and hang your coat up on your peg, you don't even notice that she doesn't seem surprised to see you, just lifts up her legs so you can sit down, immediately resting her feet in your lap. She's wearing one of your jumpers, one that you remember not being able to find but don't remember leaving here, and the sleeves are huge, the whole thing is huge on her tiny frame, and you can't help but laugh.  
"That's my jumper that you're wearing."  
"And a good evening to you too Slap," she grins at you, already not paying any attention to the TV. "And yes I know, you must have left it here at some point."  
"I was going to wear that yesterday but I couldn't find it. I bet you're wearing one of my t-shirts as well aren't you?"  
"Surely when it's been in my house for this long it counts as my tshirt?" she asks, laughing when you roll your eyes. "Maybe you shouldn't leave clothes here, you know full well that I steal whatever I find."  
"Those t-shirts are still mine, even if you've somehow managed to claim them all for yourself, I'll take them back one day."  
"You won't," she's so smug you want to wrestle your jumper off her right then, but you settle for tickling her ribs instead, laughing when she starts to shriek and flail ineffectively. You're both wheezing by the time you stop tickling her, and you're sure you're going to be sporting a bruise or two from where she kicked you in retaliation. You probably deserved it.  
"I still want that jumper back you mad cow, somehow you always manage to steal my favourites."  
"No stealing happened considering the fact that I was already in possession of it and it had been left on my sofa,” she continued obstinately, and you just rolled your eyes again, endeared whether you wanted to be or not.  
“I don’t suppose any of my pyjamas are actually available for me to wear as pyjamas?”  
“I think there might be a t-shirt or two in the drawer, same place as always.”  
“When I come down again you better have made me dinner to make up for it, wench.”  
“So rude!” she yells after you, throwing a cushion that you dodge, laughing.

You do manage to find one of your own shirts mixed in within her pyjamas, and when you pull it on it smells like her, like her washing powder and her house, and you can’t help but spend a few moments breathing her in, stood in the middle of her bedroom. When you return to the living room, hair still wet from the shower, she’s still curled up on the sofa where you left her, looking like she hasn’t moved.  
“Haven't you moved your fat arse in all this time?” you complain as you flop down onto the sofa, glad she moved her legs at just the right moment.  
“Oi I was about to ask you if you wanted spag bol for diner.”  
“Awww, playing wife?" You're laughing, and then you're distracted by the thought, the two of you coming home in the same car to what would be the house you share, watching mindless TV and sickening other people with how in love you were.  
"Shut up, do you want dinner or not?"

When you're getting ready for bed much later, brushing your teeth in her bathroom, feeling like you belonged here, you realise that this life, the married one that you'd always avoided and told yourself that you didn't want, was something that you craved. You're smiling when she appears in the open doorway, wearing your old, faded shirt and plaid pyjama trousers.  
"What?" She asks, softly, and you have to restrain yourself from crossing to the doorway and sweeping her up into your arms, she looks so tiny in the doorway, in your shirt, her hair not as neat as it usually was.  
"Nothing," you murmur, instinctively, but you can't help yourself from shifting forwards, drawn to her like a flower to sunlight. She notices, like she's been noticing the things that have been giving you away for years, but she moves further into the bathroom, cornering you against the sink without even touching you, looking like she was preparing to confront you about something.  
You're wary, and you're not expecting the small smile on her face, not expecting her to kiss you, unremarkable from other kisses you've shared apart from in the noticeable lack of alcohol that was involved in making it happen.  
"What was that for?" you ask, dreading the answer, but she's all confident Gill, grinning at you, and you know she's covering the fact that she's nervous, that she cares.  
"I thought it was about time, considering how we've practically been dating for a good five years."  
"You still need to return my clothes," you murmur with a grin, laughing.


End file.
